


once bitten and twice shy

by televangelists



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, Idiots in Love, Vampire AU, background cam/corona, don't die in a bone scene au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27798670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/televangelists/pseuds/televangelists
Summary: In the end, it's surprisingly easy for Gideon to accept the fact that Harrow is a vampire. But the desperate worry she felt during Harrow’s disappearance? The feeling of affectionate protectiveness that wells up in her chest as she looks at Harrow now? The aching urge to brush aside the strand of black hair that falls across Harrow’s forehead?That’s going to be a bitch to deal with.[Gideon thinks her roommate is a ghost. As it turns out, the truth is even more far-fetched.]
Relationships: Camilla Hect/Coronabeth Tridentarius, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 17
Kudos: 190





	once bitten and twice shy

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just going to preface this fic by saying that plot is in the eye of the beholder...i had a plot at the beginning and then i just sort of drifted into a stream of lesbian consciousness, so this sort of resembles the ao3 equivalent of those slice of life movies.
> 
> disclaimer: this fic contains a) me slightly messing around with the widely accepted tenets of traditional vampirism and b) absolutely no actual academic content despite the fact that it's a college au. as taylor swift once said, so it goes.

Gideon’s roommate is a ghost. 

She doesn’t have proof, but she has circumstantial evidence, and for Gideon Nav, that’s more than enough. She doesn’t even believe in ghosts normally, but she has no idea what else this could be. 

It’s been an entire month since college started - Gideon having been accepted by Canaan University, to the surprise of herself, Camilla, Aiglamene, and the world at large - and Gideon hasn’t seen her roommate more than once the entire time. Their two-person suite is little more than a closet, and the bathroom lies strategically placed in between their two rooms, and yet Gideon _never_ sees her. 

The only thing her roommate has ever said to her is a quick introduction when Gideon first moved in (“Harrowhark Nonagesimus. You must be Nav. Try not to annoy me this year.”). Other than that, it’s been radio silence. Gideon hasn’t even seen her since then; the only evidence that she lives there at all is the skeleton magnet stuck to the fridge (weird), the fake skull propped up on the kitchen counter (weirder), and the packets of soup mix in the tiny kitchen cupboard (weirdest, because who the hell made soup from a _mix ._ ) 

Ordinarily Gideon would have been overjoyed that her roommate wasn’t around. Since she’d been forbidden from rooming with Camilla, she had been prepared for the worst when it came to the roommate situation, so rooming with someone who was basically a non-entity was pretty much the best she could have hoped for. But something about Harrow’s complete lack of presence is irritating. 

Like, the whole point of college is to make friends and pick up hot chicks. From what Gideon remembers of Harrow’s appearance, she definitely wouldn’t be on the list for the latter, but she could at least be on hand for the former. But no. Gideon was on friendlier terms with strangers in the _Starbucks line_ than she was with Harrow. 

It wasn’t even like Harrow was out all the time. She spent a lot of time away from the room, sure, but occasionally Gideon could hear weird, angsty emo music coming faintly through her bedroom door. She just didn’t seem to want to spend any time with Gideon at all, or even be present in the same room as her. 

So yeah, Gideon’s pretty sure that Harrow is a ghost, and a bad-mannered one at that. It shouldn’t bother her, and yet it lingers irritatingly in the back of her mind almost every day. 

It’s supremely annoying that Harrow doesn’t even have to be _around_ to annoy her. Harrow shouldn’t mean anything to her; they’ve had a grand total of one conversation and haven’t had any kind of contact during the past thirty days. And yet for some reason, somehow, between classes and homework and fencing practice and parties, Harrow carves out a tiny space in Gideon’s brain and remains there no matter how hard Gideon tries to shake her. 

// 

“I’m getting sick of hearing about your roommate,” Camilla says. “And get off the floor.”

Gideon looks up from where she’s lying sprawled across the hardwood floor, her rapier and fencing gear tossed to the side. Practice is over, and as usual, they’re the last two in the gym. Usually this would be the point where they would either challenge each other to another match or go to get burgers at the place down the street, but today Gideon has opted for lying on the floor and complaining about her roommate. 

She figures it’s her prerogative to complain, and that Camila, as her best friend, should listen and empathize. Unfortunately, empathizing is not one of Camilla’s strong suits. Probably because it doesn’t involve a blade of any kind. 

“Come on, Cam,” Gideon says, staring up at her. “You don’t think this is weird at all? The girl doesn’t even seem to exist, but suddenly I go to get a pop tart for breakfast this morning and _bam_ . There’s a mini skull sitting in the cupboard, right on top of the pop tart box. That checks the boxes for _weird, creepy,_ and _weirdly creepy._ ” 

Camilla looks unamused. “Maybe she’s just decorating.” She tosses Gideon’s water bottle at her. “Get up. We’re meeting Palamedes for pizza.” 

The water bottle lands on Gideon’s stomach, temporarily winding her, but she won’t let a little thing like lack of oxygen stop her from complaining about Harrow Nonagesimus. Gideon sits up, taking a moment to desperately choke for air, and then continues. 

“And like, she’s _never_ in the dorm! Is that not weird to you? We’ve exchanged a total of about ten words this entire year. Every other normal person on this campus is friends with their roommate, or at least on speaking terms, but nope. I get nothing but a weird little goth who sneaks around like a freaking ghost.” 

“Well re-watch Ghostbusters and set a trap for her, then,” Camilla says. “Nav, I’m serious, get your ass up. Corona’s coming to get pizza with us and I don’t want to be late.” 

“ _Corona’s_ coming?” Gideon springs to her feet so quickly it almost gives her whiplash. “Why didn’t you mention that sooner?” 

Coronabeth Tridentarius befriended them at the beginning of the year, and Gideon’s spent almost every day since then dreaming up unlikely but satisfying fantasies in which she’s the dashing, sword-carrying hero who saves Corona from a horrible death and then gets laid as a thank-you gift. Camilla, despite the fact that she’s been much less descriptive and vocal about her interest, is also clearly attracted to Corona, as any person with working eyes and a pulse would be. 

Camilla doesn’t respond to Gideon’s question, just runs a hand through her perfectly straight black hair. To Gideon, who’s been friends with Camilla since sixth grade when they teamed up to fight four annoying high school boys, the movement speaks volumes. 

“Oh,” Gideon says. “ _Oh_. You actually like her, don’t you?” 

Camilla starts walking for the door. “Let’s go, Gideon.” 

Gideon joins her, grinning over at Camilla’s slightly pink face. “Aw, look at you, Cam. You’re catching feelings.” She mentally takes a moment to mourn the loss of Coronabeth Tridentarius as an available woman to lust over, saying a quick goodbye to the hours she’s spent fantasizing about being her knight in shining fencing gear, and then shakes it off and pats Camilla on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ll wingman you. Corona won’t know what hit her.” 

“God, please don’t,” Camilla mutters. “I want her to _like_ me, not run away screaming.” 

Gideon snorts. “Yeah, I bet you want her screaming for another reason.” 

Camilla hits her over the head with her water bottle and speeds up, leaving Gideon behind. “Figure out your roommate drama,” she calls over her shoulder. “I don’t want to hear about it anymore.” 

Gideon sighs to herself, rubbing the sore spot on her head, and resigns herself to the misery of running to catch up with Camilla. 

//

Gideon skips her 8:30 class the next morning and lounges on the couch instead, prepared to see if she can catch Harrow coming or going. She boots up the beat-up Playstation 3 that’s perched precariously next to the TV and starts up a game of Mario Kart while she waits. After a moment’s thought, she cranks the volume up to full volume, thinking that maybe Harrow will get annoyed enough to come out and yell at her. Gideon settles onto the couch and waits. 

And waits. And waits. And waits some more. 

By lunchtime, Gideon’s won fifteen games and gotten hit with a blue shell three times, and Harrow still hasn’t shown up. 

She drops her controller with a sigh and gets up, grabbing another pop tart from the cupboard. The skull perched on top of the box glares unnervingly at her, leaving Gideon to wonder, once again, what exactly is wrong with her roommate’s sense of decor. 

Harrow’s door is closed as always, and Gideon wanders over to it curiously. She usually avoids it, figuring Harrow probably put up one of those electric fences to keep people out, but after wasting an entire morning waiting for Harrow to turn up, she’s lost all patience for worrying about stuff like that. Worrying can get fucked in the ear. 

Gideon knocks on the door loudly, presses her ear to the door and listens. She hears the hollow ring of an empty room, so she puts one hand on the doorknob and turns it just enough to open the door a crack and look in.

Harrow, unsurprisingly, is nowhere to be found. Her bed (made up with black sheets and covered by a black comforter, with a black pillow resting near the headboard) is so pristinely flawless that it looks like a hotel bed. Gideon tilts her head to look around at the rest of the room, which is filled with black clothing, textbooks, and what appears to be a miniature skeleton mobile hanging from the ceiling. The entire room kind of feels like a funeral home fucked a Hot Topic outlet and dropped the resultant architectural love child into Canaan University’s Drearburh Hall dorms. 

In short, it’s exactly the kind of dark creepy place that Gideon expects from a girl whose idea of decoration is sticking anatomically correct skeleton magnets on the refrigerator door. 

Gideon doesn’t go into the room - she’s not that bold - and she’s just about to close the door when she catches sight of a poster on the far wall. It’s drawn like an old-timey tarot card, with clean lines and white edges, and it shows two women standing back to back. The taller one holds a sword, while the shorter one is holding out a hand full of levitating knucklebones. 

It’s pretty badass, and something about it seems almost familiar. The longer Gideon looks at it, the more she wonders if she’s seen it before. 

She gives her head a quick shake and closes the door, then uses her sleeve to wipe the knob clean of her fingerprints, just in case. She wouldn’t put it past Harrow to do some kind of forensics shit and find her prints on the door, then kill her in her sleep for trespassing. 

Still, at least getting murdered by Harrow would mean that the girl would have to be _present_ to murder her. 

Discouraged at her failed stakeout, Gideon sits down at the tiny kitchen counter to drink a cup of shitty instant coffee. She pulls out her phone to text Camilla an update. 

**Gideon:** _operation trap my roommate_ _was a failure. i tried a stakeout and it didn’t work._

 **Cam:** _then try something else. and stop texting me about it._

 **Gideon:** _come on cam you know you wanna hear about it_

 **Cam:** _not really. and did you seriously miss psych for this dumb idea?_

 **Cam:** _i’ll stop by to drop off my notes later._

Gideon puts down her phone and sighs. She needs a new plan. 

//

“Hey, Sex Pal - ” 

“Don’t call me that,” Palamedes says, not looking up from his book. “What do you want, Gideon?” 

Gideon flops down into the comfy office chair at Palamedes’ desk, spinning herself around until she’s slightly dizzy. “How do you trap a ghost?” 

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Palamedes informs her pontifically. “There are, of course, multiple documentations of people claiming to have seen ghosts, along with several unrealistic movie franchises supporting the existence of such spectres, but - ” 

Gideon grabs a marker from the cup in front of her and throws it at him. “Not the point, Pal. I’m trying to catch my roommate, who’s legit a ghost, so I need you to stop with your science-y skepticism and help me think of some ideas.” 

Palamedes frowns at her. “Are you just asking me because Cam told you to stop talking about this?” 

“Yep.” 

“I see.” Palamedes adjusts his glasses thoughtfully. “Gideon, I think you’re being a little overdramatic about this.” 

“Oh, sure.” Gideon tips herself back in the chair, trying to get the back to bend in half. “My roommate is the one filling the suite with _miniature skulls_ but I’m the dramatic one.” 

“It’s normal to not see your roommate that often,” Palamades points out. “Just because you share a room doesn’t mean you’ll automatically be friends. I _wish_ I didn’t see my roommate often.” He casts a disdainful look at the other side of the room, piled high with fencing gear, workout clothes, and footballs of various sizes that Gideon recognizes as belonging to Naberius Tern, and shudders. “Naberius keeps trying to make me go out onto the quad and throw a football around with him. I don’t _do_ football.” 

“Maybe you should,” Gideon suggests. “You study too much, Pal. Shouldn’t have done a double major. You’ll end up straining your gray matter if you’re not careful.” 

“I think I’ll be okay,” Palamedes says dryly. “Anyways, your whole roommate situation is going to be fine. Just leave her notes or something.” 

“You think notes are going to cut it?” Gideon frowns. “Pal, she’s a literal ghost. She’s a freaking cryptid.” 

Palamedes shrugs. “Cam used to leave me notes reminding me to eat in high school. That worked.” 

“Yeah, cause she threatened to strangle you if you didn’t pay attention to them,” Gideon mumbles. “Notes are not going to cut it with Harrow. I am so not trying that.” 

//

After a fruitless day spent trying to think up better plans to make contact with Harrow, Gideon is reluctantly forced to accept Palamedes’ note idea as the best option. The only other thing she can think of is hiding in Harrow’s closet and waiting for her to come into the room, which Gideon rejects because one, it’s an unhinged plan, and two, she refuses to go back in the closet in any sense. 

So Gideon steals the magnetic whiteboard from the dorm RA’s door and appropriates it for her own use. She could have just bought one at Target, but the theft is infinitely more satisfying. If anything, it’s revenge for Mercymorn showing up at her door the other week and demanding that she turn down the music. (The music in question had been Rihanna’s _Good Girl Gone Bad_ album, proving that Mercymorn was both tasteless and more of a bitchy wet blanket than any RA had the right to be.) 

Gideon sticks the whiteboard to the fridge in their suite, right underneath the skeleton and skull magnets, along with a black marker. Then, in keeping with the morbidly osseous theme, she scrawls a message on it: _hey harrow. gotten boned recently?_

When she shows up to bring Gideon the day’s psych notes, Camilla takes one look at the fridge and slaps a hand to her forehead. “That’s your message to her?” 

“It’s funny,” Gideon says, taking one look at Camilla’s meticulous notes and tossing the papers onto the kitchen counter. “She’ll love it. She’s into bones.” 

“Bet you twenty bucks she doesn’t answer,” Camilla says, one corner of her mouth curling into an unusually amused smile. 

Gideon grabs her hand and shakes it. “Done.” 

“Now go get your fencing stuff. We’re going to be late to practice, and I don’t want to run laps again.” 

//

They end up being late to practice anyway, and Judith, the bossy senior captain, makes them run ten laps for it. Gideon’s argument that they’re on the fencing team and not the track team is completely disregarded. 

Camilla runs the laps with her usual effortless grace; Gideon follows a full lap behind her, groaning and cursing with every step. By the end of practice, she’s almost ready to pass out. 

She gets back to the dorms, showers quickly, and falls into bed at 10:00 with complete disregard for the stack of homework that’s piled onto her abandoned desk. She sleeps as soundly as a rock that’s never been rolled away, and it’s not until she wakes up the next morning and goes to pour herself a glass of orange juice that she sees it.

There’s a reply on the whiteboard, written in small and spiky handwriting: _You’re disgusting._

Only two words, but Gideon grins widely. She’s made contact with Harrow _and_ twenty bucks off Camilla.

She writes out a quick response - _i’m just trying to keep up with your apparent interests, my osseous overlord_ \- and then gathers her half-completed assignments and makes her way to English class, her heart light. 

//

When she gets back from class, her notebook filled with more doodles than actual notes, there’s a response waiting on the whiteboard. 

_I am interested in osseous matter on a purely academic level. I have no interest in bones when used as vulgar euphemisms._

“Damn, you must be fun at parties,” Gideon mumbles to herself. She grabs the marker and writes back: _what’s with all the skulls?_ before forcing herself to sit down and complete an assignment for her Necromantic History class. Loathsome though it is to do actual academic work, the professor for that class is kind of hot and Gideon wants to stay on her good side. 

(Actually, “kind of hot” doesn’t cut it. Abigail Pent is a total milf and Gideon has no idea how Magnus - her mild mannered English Lit professor who wears tweed four out of every five days - managed to bag her. But they’re a cute couple, so overall Gideon supposes it works out fine). 

The reply shows up the next afternoon in the form of one terse word: _Ambiance_. 

Gideon answers, _Well, your so-called ambiance is currently watching over my pop tart box like a freak, so fuck that._

The next morning there’s no new message on the whiteboard, but when Gideon goes to grab the last pop tart, there’s _two_ little skulls sitting creepily on top of the box. For some reason, it’s weirdly endearing in an eerie, crypt-keeping sort of way. 

Gideon erases her last message and writes _thanks for the extra skull, my dismal duchess_ on the board. Then she eats her breakfast in two bites and heads off to English Lit 101, hoping that the sickly-hot senior TA is there today. 

//

The notes keep going strong after that; there’s hardly a day when Gideon doesn’t find at least one message from Harrow waiting on the fridge in curt black writing. They range from complaints like _Please do not leave your disgusting, dirty socks on the coffee table_ to annoyed statements like _Your asinine video gaming habit will no doubt lead you to academic failure if you don’t stop playing during the early hours of the morning_ to unexpected and extremely rare missives like _There is an extra helping of soup in the fridge. I can’t finish it, so eat it before it goes to waste,_ which for Harrow is something like the equivalent of a Hallmark card. 

In fact, when Gideon received that last message, it made her strangely happy. She made sure not to erase it, then dug out the soup and microwaved it in a coffee mug before drinking it in three gulps. It was too salty and tasted vaguely of overcooked potatoes, but Gideon didn’t care; it gave her serotonin along with the salt poisoning, and that was all that mattered. 

For her part, Gideon mostly tries to get information out of Harrow, asking questions like _did you used to work at hot topic?_ and _are you part of a dark sorceress cult?_ and _are you aware that soup only needs a teaspoon or two of salt, not the entire container?_

Harrow had responded to these with _Yes, No,_ and _I am perfectly capable of cooking soup without your unsolicited advice._

All in all, it’s a nice little communication network. For some bizarre reason, Gideon actually starts to look forward to the daily notes. Seeing Harrow’s spiky little scrawl on the whiteboard makes her grin every time, even when it’s an insult or a complaint about her general tidiness in the room - which, for the record, is mostly fine. Leaving her socks on the coffee table one time is not grounds for semi-constant reminders about her lack of cleanliness. 

The notes keep going, and the weeks keep passing, but Gideon can’t help noticing that she still hasn’t actually seen Harrow. Despite the fact that they talk pretty much every day, Harrow has remained missing in action, and all of Gideon’s inquiries about this go unanswered. 

It’s weird, but whatever. Gideon decides she can live with it. 

//

It’s only one night when she and Camilla are at Canaan Stop, the on-campus convenience store, that Gideon realizes she doesn’t know if Harrow even eats anything besides soup. 

The prospect of Harrow having survived two months on nothing but shitty over-salted soup made from packet mix makes Gideon laugh out loud in the middle of the snack aisle, and then freeze dead in her tracks as she realizes the potential seriousness of the issue. 

On the one hand, the idea of Harrow not having eaten anything but soup all year is hilarious. On the other hand, the idea of Harrow not having eaten anything but soup all year is terrible.

“Oh my god,” Gideon says out loud. “That stupid, scrawny little idiot. She definitely hasn’t been eating anything but soup for the past two months.” 

Camilla pulls a bag of Milanos off the shelf and tosses it to Gideon without even looking. “One bag or two?” 

“Two,” Gideon says automatically. “But make sure one is double chocolate. I don’t like those weird mint ones.” 

“Heathen,” Camilla mumbles, but she grabs a bag of double chocolate anyway. “What scrawny idiot are you talking about?” 

“Harrow,” Gideon says. “You know how we’ve been talking for a couple weeks? Or like, our whiteboard markers have been talking? I’ve just realized that in all that time, I haven’t ever asked if she eats. I mean, duh, everyone eats, but like, I’m pretty sure she only eats soup. There is literally nothing of hers in the fridge or the cupboard that isn't a shitty packet soup mix pretending to be gourmet French onion.” 

Camilla gives her a weird look. “You’ve been letting your roommate starve?” 

“Cam, I haven’t even seen her all year! How the hell am I supposed to make sure she eats? How is that my responsibility? Especially since she won’t even show her face.” Gideon frowns, more annoyed at this last part than she wants to admit. She’d kind of thought that once they became whiteboard friends, Harrow would start hanging out in the room sometimes, or at least do something really radical like saying hello in person once in a while. 

“Besides, I thought she was a ghost. Ghosts don’t need to eat. But now…” Gideon runs a hand through her hair, then starts grabbing random bags of chips from the shelf. “I have to get her something. What if she’s like, starving to death?” 

Camilla regards her thoughtfully for a moment, then heaves a long-suffering sigh and starts walking towards the pre-packaged meals section of the store. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Gideon says, hurrying after her as efficiently as possible with an armful of food packages. “Where are you going?” 

“You can’t just get junk food,” Camilla says patiently. “If you’re going to leave her food, at least make some of it semi-healthy.” 

“What’s wrong with this stuff?” Gideon asks, looking down at her haul. There’s a few bags of Doritos, a bag of corn chips, two packages of sugar wafers, and a box of strawberry frosted pop tarts. “I eat like this.” 

“You have the metabolism of a garbage disposal machine,” Camilla points out. “The rest of us aren’t so fortunate. Grab some healthy stuff.” 

Gideon drops some of her chip bags and reluctantly picks up a package of instant noodle cups instead. “This?” 

Camilla checks the label and nods. “Yeah, this is what I usually get for Pal. He never eats either.” 

“Ugh,” Gideon says, looking dubiously at a boxed salad. “I know _you’ve_ spent your whole life feeding a skinny malnourished fool with poor self-preservation instincts, but I never thought _I’d_ have to do it.” 

“This is what you signed up for,” Camilla says unsympathetically. “Get another salad. Greens are not your enemy.” 

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Gideon protests, following Camilla to checkout. “Pal’s your family; you _have_ to take care of him. Harrow, on the other hand, is a barely-present, unknown entity who spends half our conversations shitting on me and my lifestyle. I don’t even care about her.” She dumps the food she’s carrying onto the counter; instant pudding cups rain down like a shower of unusually large hailstones. Camilla raises an eyebrow, and so does the clerk. 

“Okay, fine,” Gideon says, rummaging in her pockets for the twenty dollar bill that she’s fairly sure was there two days ago. “I know this _looks_ like me caring about her, but I don’t. I just don’t want her dying on my watch and making Mercymorn beat down my door to accuse me of murder.” 

“Right,” Camilla says, a faint smirk emerging at the corner of her mouth. She nudges Gideon out of the way, handing her own credit card to the clerk. “Got it.” 

“I don’t care about her,” Gideon repeats as they make their way back to the dorm. “Really. Her dying would actually be good for me, I’d get top marks…” 

“That’s a myth,” Camilla says. “Otherwise I’d have murdered Alecto at the beginning of the year.”

“Whatever,” Gideon says, ready to change subjects. “Let’s drop this at my room and then go out, yeah?” 

“You got it,” Camilla replies. “Drinks are on you this time.” 

// 

The next morning, bleary-eyed and hungover from a night out with Camilla, Palamedes, and the Tridentarii, Gideon wakes up late and immediately regrets it. She vows to never again let Ianthe Tridentarius talk her into a drinking contest, no matter how vile and antagonistic she is, and stumbles out to the kitchen in search of water and Advil.

Harrow’s not there, as usual, but for once Gideon isn’t deterred by this. She downs a glass of water and two pills before digging out the groceries she got yesterday and sorting them out. 

She picks the food that she thinks Harrow might like most - a container of cup noodles and a carton of blackberries and a box of mini muffins shaped like skulls that were probably leftover from Halloween - and arranges them on the table in a sort of pattern, then writes a note on the whiteboard. _For you, my crepuscular queen. I’m sure even eldritch horrors need to eat sometimes._

//

The next day, the food is still out on the counter, but two mini muffins and half the container of blackberries are gone. The note on the fridge reads: _I don’t need you to feed me. I eat out a lot._

 _well damn!_ Gideon writes back. _you’re getting laid, huh?_

The response comes later that night: _Nav, that is not what I meant and you know it. You disgust me._ Underneath that, in small letters that look like they’ve been crossed out and re-written a few times: _However, your food was...not unpalatable, I suppose._

Gideon grins to herself like an idiot. 

//

She starts leaving food out for Harrow along with the usual notes. Although it’s never all eaten, she can see that Harrow appreciates it, because there’s always something taken from the pile.

It’s in this way that Gideon learns what Harrow does and doesn’t like. Instant cup noodles are almost always used, while pre-packaged sandwiches are rejected. Carrots are accepted, but celery is preferred, which is gross as hell in Gideon’s opinion, but whatever. Harrow seems to only like corn chips, and the one time that Gideon tries leaving out brownie sundae-flavored pop tarts, they go completely untouched. 

_Those aren’t edible,_ Harrow’s message says, with an arrow drawn towards the pop tarts in question. _They probably contain toxic waste. I refuse to try them._

 _come on, live a little!_ Gideon writes back, and then, before she can think better of it, _come hang with me and we can try them together. i’ll even drag your dramatic ass to the hospital if they make you sick._

Seven nerve wracking hours later, Harrow replies _I can’t._

Gideon’s heart sinks when she reads that message. _why not?_

Harrow doesn't answer that one. 

Gideon sighs and goes to buy the plain brown sugar pop tarts. 

//

Harrow stops responding to her notes. 

It happens suddenly and takes Gideon completely by surprise; she’d thought they were on better terms than that. But one day, Harrow just straight up disappears. 

The whiteboard stays empty. The food Gideon buys goes uneaten. Harrow’s upgraded from “barely-there ghost” to “completely non-existent.” 

It’s really weird, and it’s really annoying. And Gideon, who should be doing a wild victory dance to celebrate no longer spending money on Harrow’s food every week, is _worried_. 

On the first day, Gideon shrugs it off. One day is nothing; Harrow’s probably otherwise engaged studying for Bones 101 or out looking for another skull magnet to put the finishing touch on her collection. On the second day, Gideon starts to worry a little. On the third day, she realizes that she hasn’t heard Harrow’s emo music playing through the door in a while. 

On the fourth day, she starts to panic a little. 

Palamedes and Cam try to talk her down, pointing out that 1) Harrow was fine without contacting Gideon for six whole _weeks_ at the start of the semester and 2) there was literally no reason to worry, because she was legally an adult and therefore perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Despite the undeniable logic in their arguments, Gideon can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong. 

“Seriously, Nav, don’t worry,” Camilla says, leaning in her doorway. “The girl will be fine. She’ll probably be back in a day or two.” 

“Cam is right,” Palamedes adds, patting Gideon on the shoulder with a kind of awkward, kind of endearing gesture. “Harrow is fine. Stop worrying.” 

“Worrying?” Gideon says, attempting a carefree smile. “Pfft. I’m not worried about her. I’m just glad that I don’t have to buy her food anymore.” 

Camilla and Palamedes exchange looks that rank somewhere around a high 8 on a scale of 1 to _that’s total bullshit_ , but thankfully don’t comment further. 

“Actually,” Gideon says, “you guys should go catch up on your studying, cause I know Cam’s behind on astronomy. I’ll just stay here and work on some stuff.” 

Palamedes nods to her, then the two of them leave for the library. Gideon watches them go, making sure that they’re out of sight, and then screws her courage to the sticking place and makes her way down the hall to Mercymorn’s door. Absolutely hating herself for what she’s about to do, she takes a deep breath and knocks. 

The door flies open violently, and Mercymorn glares out at her. “Yes?” 

Gideon straightens her posture a little just to be an asshole, making their height difference as obvious as possible, and looks down at Mercymorn. “Yeah, my roommate is missing. What do I do about that?”

Mercymorn lets out a deep sigh, like she can’t believe she has to actually do her job. “What do you mean by _missing_? And who’s your roommate?” 

“You’re the RA,” Gideon shoots back. “Shouldn’t you know that?” 

Mercymorn squints at her for a moment. “Oh, yes. You’re rooming with the infant. Harrowhark, is it?” 

“Yeah,” Gideon says, slightly amazed at how much disdain Mercymorn manages to pack into the three syllables of Harrow’s full name. “And she’s...I don’t know, she’s missing. She hasn’t been around the dorm in like, five days.” 

“Have you tried texting her?” 

Gideon shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t have her number.” 

“You’ve been roommates for almost three months,” Mercymorn says slowly, “and you don’t have her number?” 

“Nope.” 

“I do not have time for this,” Mercymorn mutters. “Go look for her or something, okay? You can call this an actual problem when it’s been two weeks. Otherwise I’m just going to assume that she’s out partying or something.” 

“She doesn’t party,” Gideon argues. “She wouldn’t know a party if it bit her in the ass. She’s _missing_.” 

“Not my problem,” Mercymorn says loudly. And with that, she slams the door in Gideon’s face. 

Gideon flips off the door in revenge, using both hands, and then kicks the door frame for good measure. It hurts her toe, but it’s sort of satisfying. 

//

There’s still zero sign of Harrow when Gideon gets home from practice the next day, and it makes Gideon worry even more. She feels unsettled, her nerves frayed and raw, like she’s somehow incomplete. She paces around the room until she gets dizzy, and finally she forces herself outside to go for a walk. 

It’s winter now, and the temperature is absolutely brick tits, but Gideon pushes through the cold to walk anyway. The trees lining the streets are stark and bare, stripped of leaves, and the sky is an unwelcoming slate grey. Campus seems bleak and frigid, all pale shades and drab shadows, like the color’s been pulled out of it. Altogether, it’s pretty miserable, and Gideon questions, more than once, whether this is worth it. 

She walks down Dominicus Street, past Starbucks and the book shop, past the sophomore residence hall. There’s only a few people out; evidently everyone with a shred of common sense is indoors. 

Well, fuck that. Gideon’s never been big on common sense anyways. 

She crosses the quad and makes her way across the Houses - the seven streets that make up the heart of campus, each named for an ordinal number. Night is falling by the time she gets to Ninth House, and she’s passing the library when something catches her eye. She stops walking to look, and what the fuck. 

There, in the grass to the left of the library, is her missing roommate. 

Harrow’s standing in the grass and leaning up against the ivy-covered brick wall of the library, looking like she’s barely conscious. Gideon blinks twice, pinches her arm just to make sure she’s not seeing things, and then crosses the street quickly. 

She’s just in time; as she gets to the wall, Harrow starts to collapse. Before she can have second thoughts, Gideon reaches out to catch her. 

“What the fuck,” Harrow says, her voice alarmingly weak. She stares up at Gideon, her dark eyes half-closed. “Nav? What are you doing here?” 

“Nope,” Gideon says, adjusting her hold on Harrow so that one hand is pressed to the small of her back and the other is resting on her shoulder. Harrow doesn’t slap her hands away, which Gideon takes as a small victory. “You don’t get to ask me that. How about this: what the hell are _you_ doing here, passing out next to the library?” 

Harrow gives a half-assed glare, but there’s not much behind it. “I don’t have to explain that to you.” 

“The hell you don’t,” Gideon says heatedly. Harrow starts to say something else, but Gideon holds up a finger to silence her. “No, shut up and listen. As your roommate, I have a certain obligation to not let you pass out next to the library. As _my_ roommate, _you_ have a certain obligation to not disappear on me for almost a week and then pass out next to the library.” 

“I - ” Harrow says, and then sighs, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “It wasn’t a week, it was five days.” 

“Five days, a week, what-fucking-ever,” Gideon says impatiently. “It doesn't take away from my main point, which is _why the fuck are you passing out next to the library?_ ” 

“Um,” Harrow manages, and then her eyes close again. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Gideon mumbles, pushing down the slight wave of panic that crests over her at the sight of Harrow’s exhausted expression. “Come on, Harrow. We’re going home.” She fully picks Harrow up, carrying her bridal-style, and starts back towards their dorm, trying not to think too much about what she’s doing.

Harrow is light, even lighter than Gideon could have imagined, and her body is cold against Gideon’s. Gideon instinctively wants to pull her closer to try and warm her up, but she decides against that on the grounds that Harrow might murder her if she did. Harrow remains stiff in her arms, clearly uncomfortable with being carried, and her elbow digs into Gideon’s chest uncomfortably. Several people on the street give Gideon weird looks as they pass by. 

Overall, it’s a horrendous experience. It’s also one of the best moments of Gideon’s life so far. 

They manage to get back to their room, where Gideon deposits Harrow on the couch unceremoniously and then sits on the coffee table, watching intently as Harrow sinks slowly into a resting position against the pillows. Then she goes to the kitchen and gets a glass of water, which Harrow accepts from her. Gideon inwardly sighs in relief when Harrow takes a sip before closing her eyes. 

“Stop looking at me,” Harrow says, her eyes still closed. “I can feel it.” 

“No,” Gideon says. “Nope. Nuh-uh. You don’t get to tell me what to do after I just found you passed out by the library and carried your sorry ass home. Harrow, what the _fuck_ is going on with you?” 

Harrow makes a sound somewhere between a snarl and a groan. “None of your business.” 

“Like hell it’s none of my business!” Gideon jumps to her feet, pacing back and forth in front of the couch. “I’ve been feeding you for two weeks, and you’re my _roommate._ Your business is automatically my business, especially when it involves you disappearing for five days and then passing out right in front of me. So spill.” 

Harrow opens one eye a crack and looks at her wearily. “Fine. I’m too tired to argue with you.” She coughs, then adds, “you infuriatingly stubborn moron.” 

“Alright, great!” Gideon sits down again. “What is it with you? Are you sick?” 

“No,” Harrow says flatly. “I’m a vampire.” 

Gideon stares at her for a moment, wondering if she’s joking, but Harrow’s expression is deadly serious. Gideon mentally runs through the list of information she has about Harrow - the gothy clothing, the extreme paleness, the room decor that was bought wholesale at Skeletons R Us, the short black hair that hangs in spiky locks around Harrow’s chin - and is surprised to find that she’s _not_ surprised. 

“Oh,” she says. “So you’re like, blood-sick or something?” 

“Didn’t you hear me, Nav?” Harrow says with a touch of asperity in her voice. “I’m a _vampire_.” 

“I heard you the first time,” Gideon assures her. “That makes total sense, you know.” 

Harrow frowns. “Wait, what?” 

“I mean, look at you.” Gideon gestures towards her. “You’ve got the black clothes and the creepy bone earrings. You’ve got the pale skin tone that probably runs and hides from even a hint of sunlight. You decorated the entire room with fucking _skulls_. You being a vampire is, like, the least surprising thing ever.” 

“Oh,” Harrow mumbles, and slouches back against the pillows a little more. Gideon watches her carefully. 

In the end, it's surprisingly easy for Gideon to accept the fact that Harrow is a vampire. But the desperate worry she felt during Harrow’s disappearance? The feeling of affectionate protectiveness that wells up in her chest as she looks at Harrow now? The aching urge to brush aside the strand of black hair that falls across Harrow’s forehead? 

That’s going to be a bitch to deal with. 

“So what do you need?” Gideon asks, sweeping her feelings under the rug for the moment. She can dig them out again when Harrow isn’t actively decomposing on their sofa. “Blood?” 

“Blood, yes,” Harrow says, her voice still weak. “The bloodlust usually starts during adolescence, but I was...a late bloomer. It just started recently for me.” 

Gideon smirks. “You make it sound like you’ve just started your period.” 

Harrow makes a face at her. “I’ve been avoiding drinking from humans, so my only blood source is animals, but catching them has proved to be...difficult.” 

Gideon laughs at that, like full-on chuckles at the thought of Harrow chasing one of the campus squirrels in order to suck its blood. She can’t imagine Harrow’s skinny little legs being fast enough to catch anything. 

“I did bite one human,” Harrow continues, “but she was disgusting.” 

Gideon frowns. “Who?” 

“Ianthe.” 

“You bit _Ianthe Tridentarius_ ?” Gideon is filled with glee, along with a small and completely irrational flicker of jealousy that she quickly buries and rolls a rock on top of. “Damn, if only you’d done the job properly and drained her dry. It’d give a whole new meaning to ‘ _suck me off’_ …” 

“You’re disgusting,” Harrow says, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth that Gideon recognizes as a smile. Harrow takes a deep breath that rattles slightly in her chest, and Gideon is suddenly worried again. 

“Okay, so you need blood,” she says, pushing a hand through her hair. “Any kind alright?” 

Harrow coughs, and Gideon’s chest clenches at the sound. “Yes. The fresher the better.” 

“Okay,” Gideon says, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over Harrow’s limp form. “I’m going to try and get you some. You stay here and _don’t move._ ” 

Harrow coughs again. Gideon takes one more look at her, then goes to find Palamedes, because if anyone one on campus would have some blood lying around, it would be him. (Ianthe Tridentarius probably would too, but Gideon would rather swallow her rapier than ask that anemic, sadistic, sour-milk-looking bitch for help).

She arrives at Palamedes’ room five minutes later, out of breath from running, and bangs on the door as hard as she can. Palamedes appears after a moment, his eyes full of that far-away nerdy daydream look that means she’s interrupted his studying. 

“Hey, Pal,” Gideon says, giving him a winning smile. “I need your help. Do you know where I can get some blood?” 

Palamedes chokes. “You need some _what_?” 

//

It takes longer than Gideon wants for Palamedes to get it together and start being helpful, but eventually she’s walking back to her room with a bottle of animal blood that was originally supposed to be used for one of Palamedes’ lab experiments. 

Harrow is slumped against the couch when Gideon returns, curled up under the blanket. Her eyes snap open when Gideon walks in. “You managed to get some?” 

Gideon raises an eyebrow at her, not sure whether to be impressed or disconcerted. “Can you, like, _smell_ blood?” 

“Yes,” Harrow says impatiently. “Are you going to give it to me or not?”

Gideon tosses her the bottle, and Harrow pops the cap off after a moment of struggling. She tips her head back to drink, and Gideon watches with fascination as the tips of two sharp white fangs slide into view over Harrow’s bottom lip. 

Holy shit, her roommate really is a vampire. 

“Are those out all the time?” Gideon asks, pointing towards the fangs. “Feel like that would make your orthodontist lose their shit.” 

“No,” Harrow says, finishing the bottle and setting it on the coffee table. She looks better already, her face slightly less pale and her eyes slowly lighting up. “They just come out when I need to feed. I’m a _vampire_ , Griddle. That’s how it works. Honestly, are you always such an idiot?”

“Well, excuse me,” Gideon huffs. “I didn’t sign up for Vampire Lore 101 this semester.” She frowns at Harrow, replaying what she’d just said. “Wait, what did you just call me?” 

“An idiot.” 

“No, before that.” 

“Griddle?” 

“Yeah, that,” Gideon says, ignoring the way that her stomach reacts to the stupid nickname. It’s like a bomb tossed into a lepidopterarium - butterflies everywhere. “That is _not_ my name.” 

Harrow shrugs one bony shoulder. “Close enough.” 

Gideon’s about to argue the point more when Harrow coughs again, falling weakly into the sofa. “Hey, why are you still dying? I thought the blood would fix you.” 

“I can’t _die_ ,” Harrow points out, marking herself as the most pedantic person Gideon’s ever met who’s not Palamedes Sextus. “I’m immortal.” 

“Whatever, you know what I mean. Shouldn’t you be back to like, vampire-y super strength now? Or at least be able to sit up without hacking up a lung?” 

“I don’t have super strength,” Harrow mutters, and Gideon graciously bites back the _well no shit!_ that’s just begging to be said. “To your point, yes. I would usually be back to normal health after drinking, but in this case, I can’t be.” 

Gideon waits for her to continue, but Harrow seems to think that’s a perfectly satisfactory explanation. Her eyes start to close again, and Gideon clears her throat loudly. “Um, hello? Earth to Harrow? Care to explain any further?” 

“Ugh,” Harrow says. “Do I have to spell out _everything_ for you?” She sighs dramatically, in the manner of someone who’s been fatally inconvenienced. “Vampires can survive a while without blood and still be fine soon as they drink again, but there’s a certain point where even new blood isn’t enough for a full recovery. When this happens, it’s called hollowing; it’s like hitting rock bottom withdrawals. I’m currently hollowing, so even with this blood it’s going to take me a few days to get back to my usual strength.” 

“Huh. They didn’t mention that in Buffy The Vampire Slayer.” 

Harrow scowls. “You are a monumental moron.” 

“Does that mean you’re going to make a monument of me? Sweet.” Gideon clears her throat, gathering up her courage for what she’s about to say next. “So you’ll be recovering for a while?”

“Yes.” 

“Alright,” Gideon says. “You’re staying right here for the next three days, then.” 

“I am _not_ \- ” 

“No arguments!” Gideon almost shouts. “You sit your bony butt on this sofa and stay _put_. I’m not having you disappear on me again. I have no desire to drag your unconscious body across campus more than once. You’re going to stay here and I’m going to take care of you, and that’s just how it’s going to be, so jot that one down.” 

Harrow pushes her face into the couch cushions and mumbles something unintelligible but definitely unflattering about Gideon, and then: “Fine.” 

Gideon pauses, taken aback. “Wait, what?”

“Fine,” Harrow repeats. “I’ll stay here, if only to make you shut up about this.” 

“Oh,” Gideon says, a little shocked, and then: “ _Oh_. Well. Good.” This is progress. 

Harrow rolls onto her side, and the blanket starts to slip off her. Gideon’s hand starts forward, wanting to move it back in place, and - 

“Touch the blanket and die,” Harrow snaps, turning to hide her face from Gideon’s view. 

Gideon moves her hand back, but she can’t stop herself from smiling a little. 

//

When Gideon wakes up the next morning, she emerges from her room to find Harrow still asleep on the couch. She breathes a quiet sigh of relief and starts making coffee. 

She’s pouring it into two mugs when Harrow’s eyes blink open and stare at her blearily. Her hair is a little messy on the left side, crushed flat from being pressed against the sofa, and Gideon’s heart skips a beat at how unexpectedly cute it is. 

“Good morning, my penumbral lady,” Gideon says, passing her one of the mugs. “Black unsweetened for you.” 

Harrow looks disdainfully at the mug, which has a unicorn drawn on the side in Sharpie - Camilla’s work, fueled by half a bottle of vodka last Friday night - and sniffs at the coffee. “Is this instant?” 

“No,” Gideon says defensively. “It took like, five minutes. That’s not instant.” 

Harrow’s mouth twists into a grimace, but she takes a sip anyway. Gideon mentally marks another point for herself on the Make Harrow Take Care Of Herself scoreboard. 

“So,” Gideon says cheerfully, flopping down at the kitchen counter. “What’s the plan for today?” 

Harrow frowns at her. “I’m going to class, obviously.” 

Gideon laughs. “No you’re not.” 

“Griddle, I’m _fine_. ” Harrow drinks a little more coffee, looking slightly disgusted at the taste. “This is disgusting.” 

“First, you’re not fine,” Gideon points out. “You just told me yesterday that you were hollowed out or whatever. Second, my coffee is fine. It’s just not made for the palate of cryptkeeper fiends like you.” 

“Do you even hear the inane things that come out of your mouth?” Harrow grumbles. “I’m fine. I’m going to class and you won’t stop me.” She puts down the coffee and stand ups, immediately listing severely to one side. 

Gideon’s there in two steps, reaching out to ease her back onto the sofa. “Sit down,” she says firmly. “You can’t even stand up by yourself, so you’re definitely not capable of going to class. You’d probably pass out in the back of the lecture hall and then lie there and rot for days because no one noticed your lack of consciousness.” 

Harrow glares at her, but Gideon glares right back. She’s not about to let a scrawny little goth vampire out-glare her, especially when said vampire is currently weak from lack of blood and shaking like a leaf in a high wind. 

“I hate you,” Harrow says finally, but she sits down again. “I will stay here for today _only_ , and _not_ because I’m listening to you. I’ve simply come to the conclusion that venturing out in my current state would be inexpedient.” 

Gideon gives her a slow, mocking, golf-style round of applause. “Congratulations, my necromantic empress. Your self-preservation instincts are finally kicking in.” 

“Shut up, Griddle,” Harrow snaps. “Go to class.” 

And even though this is a cast-iron excuse to get away from Harrow and her sickly, complaining, insulting attitude, Gideon doesn’t consider it for even a moment. “I’m not going to class either,” she says reasonably. “I’m staying here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid like try to walk to the library again.” 

The look of disgusted horror on Harrow’s face could be used as an advertisement for Halloween masks. “You’re _staying here? With me?_ ” 

“Yep,” Gideon says, “so get used to it.” She makes a big show of getting comfortable in her chair, kicking her feet up on the kitchen counter just to be a douche. “I’ll be here to serve your every whim, my melancholy monarchess.” 

Harrow heaves a long-suffering sigh, then waves vaguely towards her bedroom door. “Get me my laptop and textbooks, then. And don’t touch anything else in my room.” 

Gideon gets the laptop and books, then returns to the counter; Harrow stretches out further on the couch, making space to work. They settle into this unknown territory carefully and uncertainly, their awareness of each other’s presence a new and unfamiliar concept. 

“Shouldn’t you be doing work?” Harrow asks, without looking up from her computer screen.

Gideon can think of about ten assignments off the top of her head, but she just shrugs. “Probably.” 

“Idiot,” Harrow mutters. And then: “This is a one time thing only, Nav.” 

Gideon smirks. “Yeah, that’s what your mom said to me last night.”

“Don’t be crude,” Harrow says acerbically. “I mean me skipping from class. I’m not staying here a moment longer than one day.” 

“Okay,” Gideon says, more for the sake of peace than because she believes it’s true. 

“I’m going back to class tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” 

//

Harrow doesn’t go back to class for three days. 

She lies around on the couch among stacks of books and papers, apparently attempting to become the world’s first vampire with a PhD in History of Bones. Gideon skips classes for three days straight to stay in the room with her, getting her water and cooking her soup and catching her every time she starts to pass out after standing up too quickly. Just standard roommate stuff like that. 

She’s present in their suite for the first time all year, something which Gideon finds strangely comforting. Even though Harrow spends the majority of her time volleying petty insults or scowling at either Gideon or the homework assignment in front of her, Gideon somehow feels better just having her around, knowing she’s safe. Gideon sleeps easier with the knowledge that Harrow is just one room away and will be there in the morning too, sitting at the kitchen counter and criticizing Gideon’s coffee.

It’s undeniably weird for Gideon to be feeling good about Harrow sticking around, but she’s very pleased with their new arrangement anyway. Mostly because it proves Harrow wrong. 

“Remember when you said you were going back to class after one day?” she asks on the third evening, leaning back against the coffee table and starting up a game of GTA - on mute, because yesterday when she’d put the volume up, Harrow had thrown a pen at her head. “How does it feel to be wrong?” 

“Shut up,” Harrow says, her tone holding only a fraction of its usual acidity. She scribbles something out on her notebook page, frowning deeply. There’s a small crease above her left eyebrow, worn into her skin from too much worrying and scowling, and Gideon tries not to stare at it. 

Harrow swears quietly and tosses her notebook to the coffee table, looking frustrated, and that’s Gideon’s cue to intervene. 

“Hey,” she says, hitting pause and setting down her controller. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m _working_ , Griddle,” Harrow says impatiently. “You know, fulfilling my academic obligations? It might be a foreign concept to you, seeing as I haven’t seen you crack a single book in the last three days, but - ” 

“I can see that,” Gideon interrupts. “I mean, why are you looking so murderous right now?” 

Harrow rubs one eye. “It’s this theorem I’m working on. It’s not working out the way it should.” 

Gideon snags the notebook, flips to the page that Harrow had been writing on. The page is covered in tiny scrawls detailing Greek letters, Roman numerals, some copperplate symbols that make Gideon’s eyes glaze over just from looking at them, and altogether too many numbers. 

“Yeah, fuck this,” Gideon says, slapping the book shut. “Forget your dark academia thing for a moment, okay? I’m going to teach you how to play GTA.” 

Harrow narrows her eyes. “Why? I have no need to learn that.” 

“Sure you do,” Gideon says. “It’s a life skill. While you were busy dicking around with witchcraft math, I studied the video game. ” 

“Necromantic mathematics is a highly important branch of study,” Harrow says. She’s clearly gearing up for a lecture, but Gideon heads it off at the pass.

“Harrow, knowing how to play Grand Theft Auto is like, foundational knowledge, okay? Consider this basic education. It’s the same as Gen Ed classes, except I’m the professor.” Gideon holds out the second controller. “Come on, live a little.” 

“I can’t _live a little_ ,” Harrow says irritably. “I’m undead.”

Gideon blows out an exasperated breath. “Will you stop being so difficult for two seconds? You were passed out in an alleyway three days ago; you’ve earned a little video game break.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Harrow silently reaches out and takes the controller. 

Gideon grins widely. “There you go,” she says, turning back to the screen. “Okay, so now - ” 

“Griddle - ” 

“You know it’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re explaining something, right? You’re aware of that fact?”

“Why are you sitting so close to the screen?” 

Gideon gives her a _well, duh_ kind of look. “Because if I try to sit on the sofa when you're sitting there, you’ll probably stab a pen through my eye?” 

Harrow rolls her eyes. “You are so stupid. You’re going to get eye damage that way.” 

“Yeah, well…” Gideon pauses, completely stunned, as Harrow shifts over on the couch and pushes a pillow over to the now-vacant space. “What are you doing?” 

“Sit down, idiot,” Harrow says, gesturing to the space. “You’ll ruin your eyesight.” 

Gideon’s brain does a sort of slow loop-the-loop, struggling to process the fact that Harrow actually wants to sit next to her, and it isn’t until Harrow impatiently repeats “ _sit down, idiot_ ” that the dots finally connect. Gideon jumps to her feet and sits down, putting her feet up on the coffee table. 

“Disgusting,” Harrow says, but she doesn’t push them off. 

“Okay,” Gideon says. “So to use the controller, you - ” 

“I don’t need your instructions,” Harrow snaps. “Start the game.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

Gideon obligingly starts a new round, then watches as Harrow tries to work the controller. She starts forward, speeding across the bridge, and proceeds to drive straight into a wall.

Harrow huffs in frustration, her face turning red. “Why isn’t this stupid car working?” 

Gideon clears her throat subtly, smirking. “Are you sure you don’t require assistance, my umbral sovereign?” 

“Yes,” Harrow snaps, and then, after a moment, “well...I suppose you could show me how to steer.” 

// 

Gideon wakes with a start some hours later, blinking against the darkness that’s seeped into the room. The TV screen is dimly lit, the display still showing the results from the last race, and there’s a pale glow coming in the window from the moonlight outside. 

Her back aches like a motherfucker, and when she tries to stretch, she finds that her right arm is stuck underneath something. She looks down, and that’s when she realizes what’s happening. 

She’s sitting on the couch still, and the weight pinning her down is Harrow. 

Harrow is fully leaning against her: head resting on Gideon’s chest, cheek pressed against the spot just below Gideon’s throat. Her eyes are closed, her expression relaxed. The pearly white tip of one fang is slipping over her bottom lip, and Gideon can’t help but reach out and run her thumb along the edge of it. It’s still wickedly sharp against her skin, which is both slightly painful and totally fucking cool. 

She takes a moment to really look at Harrow, to study her sharp, beautifully imperfect features. Harrow’s eyebrows are dark and curving, her eyelashes short and straight; her upper lip has a small divot just above it, and there’s a tiny brown freckle below her right eye. Even in repose, there’s still the hint of a frown line across part of Harrow’s brow. Gideon instinctively traces her finger along it, making sure the touch is so light that it won’t disturb Harrow’s sleep. 

She’s spent almost all year thinking about Harrow, whether willingly or not, and now that she’s this close, she doesn’t know what to do. Her heart is kicking in her chest, the beats quick and loud and thrilling. 

She wonders if Harrow has a heartbeat.

Gideon is sure that she’s being silent, but evidently she wasn’t as quiet as she thought, because Harrow’s eyelids start to flutter. She opens her eyes after a moment, blinking, and shifts so that her head is no longer against Gideon’s chest. Gideon quietly, privately mourns that loss.

“Hey,” she says, _sotto voce._ Harrow’s tense now, staring at her through the dim light, and Gideon is all too aware of the way their bodies are still pressed together. 

“How long have I been asleep?” Harrow asks. 

“A few hours, I think.” 

“Oh,” Harrow mutters. “You should have woken me up.” 

“I was sleeping too,” Gideon points out. “Plus, you needed the rest.” 

Harrow looks like she’s about to argue the point, but then stops. She blinks again, her expression conflicted, and then simply nods. “Maybe you’re right.” 

Gideon gasps dramatically. “Harrowhark Nonagesimus, did you just admit that I was right about something?” 

“For the first and last time ever,” Harrow says. The corner of her mouth curls up in the barest trace of a smile, and it shoots through Gideon in a rush of warmth. Harrow relaxes a little, fidgeting like she’s uncomfortable. Her eyes are still locked on Gideon’s, black against gold, intense despite the lazy darkness surrounding them. 

“I, um,” Harrow starts, then pauses for a second. She licks her bottom lip, an unconscious habit. “Thank you.” 

Gideon almost chokes on her own spit. “What?” 

“Thank you,” Harrow says again. “For...taking care of me.” She looks away now, clearly embarrassed. 

Gideon places two fingers against Harrow’s jawline, turns her head slightly so their eyes meet again. 

“Of course, dumbass,” she says, affection simmering warmly in her chest as she looks at Harrow. “I’m your roommate. That’s what I’m supposed to do.” 

Harrow nods unsteadily, her gaze shifting from Gideon’s eyes to her mouth and back again. Gideon catches sight of the fangs again, the tips barely visible against Harrow’s lips, and is filled with a sudden desire to lean forward and chase them with her mouth.

The moment stretches on endlessly, a breathless magnetism lingering in the air. Gideon licks her lips, trying her best not to do something stupid and ruin everything. 

“Hey, Harrow,” she says, letting her voice drop in volume until it’s barely more than a low whisper. 

Harrow shudders, the movement small but unmissable. “Yes?” 

No _Nav._ No _Griddle_. Nothing but bare promise between them.

Gideon can’t fuck this up, no matter how much she wants to.

She leans forward, watching Harrow swallow visibly. “I have a question.” 

Harrow nods, her eyes wide open and almost unguarded.

Gideon grins at her. “Since you’re a vampire, do you like, automatically have a biting kink?” 

Harrow hits her in the face with a pillow. Gideon takes the blow with a lighthearted laugh, letting the moment break and pass but holding its memory close. 

//

Things change between them after that night. 

Harrow gets back to normal health and stops avoiding the room. Instead, she makes a point of being there when Gideon is, and even though she spends most of their time together arguing with Gideon or insulting her, there’s never much bite to it anymore. 

Gideon finds a butcher in town who’s willing to sell her bottles of blood, although he gave her a weird as hell look when she requested it - which, fair, if Gideon were in his place she’d be weirded out too. She starts storing the blood in the fridge, right next to her own drinks, and after a few days she doesn’t even blink when she reaches for the cranberry juice and grabs a blood bottle instead. 

Harrow bullies her into completing most of her homework, because “ _you need to maintain a decent GPA if you don’t want to fail this year, Griddle,”_ and it actually works - Gideon’s grades start rising from acceptable to decent. To return the favor, she teaches Harrow how to suck at playing every video game she owns. 

In short, she and Harrow become something close to friends, however unlikely it seems to Gideon when she stops to think about it. 

It’s nice. It’s really nice. So if Gideon sometimes catches herself staring at Harrow for a moment too long, or leaning slightly into her when they sit on the couch together, she ignores it, because they’re friends now and that’s nice, and she doesn’t want to ruin it. 

Camilla, once she learns about the whole vampire thing, thinks that their newfound friendship is hilarious. 

“You being friends with a vampire is just typical,” she says one afternoon after practice. The two of them are sitting in the corner booth at Pyrrha’s, the best pizza place on campus, and sharing a large pepperoni. “But you _falling_ for a vampire? Now that’s funny.” She smiles a little as she says this, proving that she actually finds this fact side-splittingly hysterical. 

Gideon grabs another slice of pizza, folding it in half before she shoves it in her mouth. “I’m not falling for her,” she says, once she can speak again. 

“Right, and I’m not dating Corona.” 

Gideon spews melted cheese across the table. “You’re dating now? Like, officially?” 

“Yes,” Camilla drawls, “which you’d know if you hadn’t been so caught up in your Twilight drama recently.” 

Gideon sputters in protest. “It is not Twilight drama. I’m way hotter than that Bella chick. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Corona sooner. What the hell, Cam!” She reaches over to snatch a slice from Camilla’s plate. 

Camilla slaps her hand away so hard it sounds like a screenshot. “Hands off. This pizza is for people who aren’t currently pining over their vampire roommate.” 

“I am not pining,” Gideon mutters sulkily, rubbing the back of her hand as she eyes the remaining slices on Camilla’s plate and wonders if it’s worth another try. Probably not; her hand is already going numb. 

“Looks like it to me,” Camilla says. “Suck it up and tell her how you feel.” 

Gideon recoils, horrified at the idea. “I can’t do that. That’s a terrible idea. She’ll probably bite my neck and suck me dry.” 

Camilla raises an inscrutable eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

“I mean yeah, but not like _that_.” Gideon folds her napkin in half and tosses it onto her empty place, sneaking another forlorn glance at Camilla’s leftover slices. “I don’t know, Cam. I think the move here is to just wing it.” 

“So the usual,” Camilla says dryly. She rips off a piece with extra cheese hanging over the edge and slides it over to Gideon, who swallows it in two bites while mentally thanking the universe for giving her a friend like this. “Well, you’d better figure this out. I don’t want to hear shit about Miss Dracula anymore unless it’s the news that you two are dating now.” 

“Right,” Gideon replies. “Got it. So, tell me about Corona.”

Camilla shrugs noncommittally. “What’s there to tell? We’re dating. She’s amazing.” 

“Don’t do your mysterious, withdrawn woman of few words thing,” Gideon whines. “Come on! I want details.” 

“No, you don’t,” Camilla corrects. “I’m not narrating my relationship for your entertainment. That’s what your porn mags are for. Focus on your own girl, Nav.” She pats the back of Gideon’s head in a way that’s partly comforting and partly patronizing, then slides her plate over to Gideon. “Here, finish this.” 

“Okay!” Gideon says enthusiastically.

“And then talk to Harrow.” 

“Okay,” Gideon mumbles, her enthusiasm fleeing faster than Ianthe Tridentarius confronted with an ethics textbook. 

“Don’t be a wimp,” Camilla suggests. Gideon knows that’s the equivalent of a pep talk coming from Camilla Hect, and the only encouragement she’s likely to get, so she just sighs and finishes her pizza. 

//

The next day is a perfectly sunny Saturday, cold and crisp and clear. Gideon rolls out of bed early for once and throws open the shades in the living room, letting the sun stream in through the windows. 

Harrow emerges from her room, dressed in a black sweater two sizes too big. Her hands are lost somewhere in the sleeves, and Gideon tries and fails not to find that adorable. 

“Why are you awake so early?” Harrow asks, pushing up her sleeves and edging her way around the patch of sunlight spilling onto the floor. “You’re usually still snoring at this point in the morning.” 

“Good morning to you too,” Gideon says, pushing a coffee mug towards her. “Hey, do you burn up if you go in the sunlight?” 

“No, you fool,” Harrow says. “That’s a myth. It just stings a little sometimes, especially first thing in the morning.” She sits down at the counter, wrapping her hands around the mug. 

“You know, we never did a crash course on vampires,” Gideon says, leaning forward and resting her elbows against the table. “How am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s not? Can you see yourself in the mirror?” 

Harrow scoffs. “Of course.”

“Do you show up in pictures?” 

“Of course. You’re so gullible, Griddle.” 

“Wait,” Gideon says. “If you can go out in daylight, why are you so pale?”

“I _can_ go outside,” Harrow says testily. “That doesn’t mean I _want_ to.” 

“You need some Vitamin D,” Gideon insists. “D for _daylight_ , not D for _dead_. Seriously, when was the last time you stepped foot outside to do anything except walk to class?” 

“I don’t have time to be outside,” Harrow sniffs. “Besides, I dislike the squirrels on campus. I always failed at catching them, and their shrill noises make me angry.” 

“Well it’s good that you failed, cause the ASPCA would probably come down on your ass for sucking the blood out of a squirrel.” Gideon taps a spoon against the counter restlessly. “But that’s not the point. We should go for a walk or something.” 

Harrow’s eyebrows practically achieve orbit. “ _We_?” 

Gideon flinches, realizing what she’s said. “Oh, uh. Well. Yeah.”

Harrow just stares. 

“There are Christmas decorations going up already,” Gideon offers. “We could walk around downtown, make fun of happy holiday shoppers, crush small children’s dreams by telling them that Santa is fake. Whatever floats your dread and dismal boat.” 

“Ignorant fools,” Harrow mutters. “Christmas decorations? It’s barely even December yet.” 

Gideon bites her bottom lip, absolutely refusing to admit to herself that she’s nervous. “So was that a no to the walk, or…” 

Harrow looks at her silently for so long that Gideon starts to wonder if she should leave the dorm and hitchhike to the opposite side of the country. Just as Gideon is about ready to crawl under the rug and die, Harrow slowly nods. 

“I suppose a walk could be…” She grimaces, as if the simple act of admitting this to Gideon is enough to cause her physical pain.”Tolerable.” 

“Aces,” Gideon says, hugely relieved. “Put a decent coat on, though. You’ll freeze otherwise.” 

“I’m a vampire,” Harrow points out. “I’m always cold.” She presses her palm against Gideon’s arm for a moment to illustrate her point, and Gideon almost has a heart attack, because yes, it’s cold, but more importantly, Harrow is touching her voluntarily. It’s enough to make her heart do an entire set of Olympic gymnastics, and she can feel the blood draining from her head as she tries to form a coherent thought. 

Harrow removes her hand and walks over to the coat rack by the door like she hasn’t just caused a complete meltdown of Gideon’s synapses, pulling a black jacket off one of the hooks. “Let’s go, Griddle. Better get this over with.” 

//

They walk down Main Street, the distance between them hovering awkwardly on the line between together and apart. Gideon shoves her hands in her pockets to keep them from contracting frostbite or doing something dumb like reaching for Harrow’s hand. 

Christmas decorations are everywhere; wreaths hanging over doorways, Christmas trees propped up in storefront windows, strings of golden lights wrapped around lamp posts. Harrow keeps glancing around at the seasonal decor like it’s caused her a personal affront. 

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to look a little less disgusted,” Gideon says. “It’s not very in keeping with the Christmas spirit.” 

“It’s the second day of December,” Harrow replies shortly. “Other than corporate greed, there is no reason to be decorating for Christmas this early.” 

“I’m playing Christmas songs when we get back to the dorm.” 

“Over your dead body.” 

Gideon waves towards the village green ahead of them, covered in sundry decorations that include a reindeer of unlikely proportions and a sickly looking blowup Santa doll. “Come on, Harrow. Where’s your holiday cheer? Up your ass along with the massive stick that’s already there?” 

Harrow just scowls. The cold is turning her ears slightly pink, a testament to the fact that she’s drunk enough blood today to actually show color.

“Hey, you look cold,” Gideon says, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “Come here.” She reaches out slowly, giving Harrow plenty of time to smack her hands away, and cups her fingers around the tops of Harrow’s ears. “Better?” 

“Get off me, idiot,” Harrow says, but she makes no move to step away. They just stand there staring at each other for a moment, Gideon’s heart beating somewhere in her throat as she looks at Harrow’s scowling face. She remembers what Camilla said: _“Talk to Harrow.”_

Gideon takes a deep breath. “Harrow…” 

Harrow’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Yes, Griddle?” 

“I, um…” Gideon’s courage, so reliable when it came to fencing duels or chugging tequila bottles or accepting stupid dares from Camilla, abandons her and flees completely, probably to somewhere sunny and very far away. “Hey, look. There’s a bookstore over there. Wanna go see if they have the latest version of Blades and Babes?” 

Harrow glares at her. “I refuse to believe that that’s a real book.” 

“Oh, it is,” Gideon assures her. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the world of high-quality smut novels. So many tits, so little time.” 

Harrow makes a disgusted noise and steps backward, pulling away from Gideon’s touch. “Nav, you are a debauched heathen.” 

“So that’s a no, then?” 

“Absolutely.” Harrow starts walking again, leaving Gideon no chance but to walk with her and curse herself for speaking up when she had the chance. “Come on. We’re going somewhere else.” 

Gideon measures her strides carefully to remain in step with Harrow, since one of her steps is just about equivalent to three of Harrow’s. “Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see.” 

They walk in silence for about ten minutes, Harrow leading them down a side street and past one of the best coffee shops on campus. The smell of warm coffee blows over to them as the door opens, and she’s almost tempted to ask for a hot chocolate stop but decides against it on the grounds that Harrow would probably order one black coffee and nothing at all for Gideon before leaving. 

“Here we are,” Harrow says, stopping at a low wooden gate and unlatching the door. Gideon follows Harrow into what appears to be a small garden with two stone benches, a few evergreen trees, and a truly sad collection of frozen, wilted plants in raised beds that were probably pretty during the summer but currently looked depressed and anemic. It’s like the garden equivalent of a graveyard; exactly the kind of place that Harrow would like to hang out. 

“Cheery little place,” Gideon says, sitting down on one of the benches. Harrow sits down too, leaving about six inches between them. “Got a nice vibe of peace and contemplative quiet and like, hauntedness…” 

Harrow rolls her eyes. “I used to come here a lot this year before it got cold out. It’s...nice.” 

“Oh, so this is where you were hiding instead of spending time with your roommate - that’s me, in case you forgot.” Gideon looks over at Harrow. “Are you ever going to tell me why you did that, by the way? Or is it just going to be an unspoken fact between us forever? Like, _oh hey Harrow, remember when you completely and totally avoided me for the first two months of us being roommates and I didn’t see you even once?_ Is that gonna be a story we bring out sometimes when we get drunk?” 

“I don’t drink,” Harrow says distastefully.

“Oh,” Gideon says. And then, after a moment’s thought: “Actually, yeah. That makes sense. If you ever drank, you’d probably be less gothy-uptight.” 

Harrow kicks her lightly, stretching over to knock her boot against Gideon’s. “I am not uptight, Griddle. I’m simply reserved.” 

“Oh, no,” Gideon says. “Sex Pal is reserved. You’re just uptight.” She scuffs her shoe against the cold, hard ground. “Really, though. Why did you just straight up ditch me for the whole start of the year? Not that the whole whiteboard message thing wasn’t a great little rom com plotline, but you could have, you know, said hi in person a few times.” 

“I didn’t…” Harrow trails off, choosing her words carefully in a way that seems extremely un-Harrow. Gideon watches her carefully, eyes tracing the sharp lines of her profile. 

“I thought you were annoying,” Harrow says finally. “I didn’t want to deal with it. That’s why.” 

Gideon inwardly deflates, crumpling like an old balloon. Outwardly, she grins at Harrow. “But you don’t think that anymore, right?” 

“Of course not,” Harrow says, deadpan. “Now I _know_ you’re annoying.” 

Gideon shrugs. “It’s all part of my winning personality. If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best. You know the drill.” 

“You’re nothing _but_ worst,” Harrow mutters. She looks up, squints slightly against the winter sunshine, and it gives Gideon an idea. She pulls out her phone, opening the camera. 

“Hey, come here for a sec.” 

Harrow eyes her phone suspiciously. “Why?” 

“You said you show up in pictures, right? I’m putting that to the test.” 

“You are so stupid,” Harrow says exasperatedly, but Gideon thinks she can hear some fondness in Harrow’s tone. Either that or wishful thinking is taking over her brain. 

She holds out the camera. “Come here, get in the frame.” 

Harrow reluctantly shifts over until she’s in the picture, pressing up against Gideon in a way that makes her almost drop the phone. “Happy?” 

“Yeah,” Gideon says softly, glancing over at her. Harrow looks as grim as ever, unenthused at the prospect of being captured on camera in all her eldritch glory, but as Gideon watches, the corner of her mouth rises a fraction. 

“Take the picture already,” Harrow orders, and oh yeah. That’s what they were doing. 

Gideon snaps the picture, then swipes around until she finds the result in her camera roll. “Oh wow, you actually do show up.” 

“Half those dumb vampire sterotypes are just myths perpetuated by the media,” Harrow says. She leans back against the bench slightly, her posture still perfectly stiff, making no move to reclaim the six inches of space between them. Gideon’s heart does a few star jumps at the realization that Harrow is willingly sitting right up against her. 

“Give me your hand,” Harrow says suddenly. 

Gideon blinks. “Uh, what?” 

“Give me,” Harrow repeats, “your hand.” 

Gideon holds her hand out, palm up, like she’s a schoolchild about to get smacked with a ruler. Harrow reaches out and closes her own hand over it clumsily. 

“Harrow,” Gideon says, her cold and confused brain struggling to make sense of what’s going on here. “Are you trying to hold my hand?” 

“No,” Harrow snaps. She’s blatantly lying, but Gideon is too dumbstruck to call her out on it. 

“That’s not how you hold hands,” Gideon says, holding back her laughter at Harrow’s awkward attempt. She maneuvers her grip until they’re holding hands properly, fingers intertwined. “There you go, my dismal duchess.” 

“Shut up, Griddle,” Harrow says. She’s staring straight ahead unblinkingly, clearly traumatized by the mortifying ordeal of showing physical affection. 

Gideon leans into her, pressing her warm body against Harrow’s cold one. The two of them sit quietly together, hand in undead hand. 

//

The next night, Gideon comes back to the dorm after her ethics class and has barely opened the door to their room when Harrow appears in front of her with a stormy expression. 

“Your friends are here,” Harrow says, pronouncing _friends_ with the same kind of disdain that people would usually use for _dead fish_ or _conservative relatives._ “Make them leave.” 

Gideon steps inside and glances around to see that her friends have indeed set up camp in their suite: Camilla, Palamedes, and Coronabeth are sitting around the coffee table, which is covered in several alcohol bottles and a large board game box.

“Oh, hey,” Gideon calls over to them. “Is it game night already?” 

“Yes,” Camilla says. “And you’re late. Just for that, I’m taking the red pieces.” 

“Oh fuck you, Cam.” 

“No dice,” Camilla says, deadpan. “That’s _her_ job.” She nods towards Corona, who giggles and twists a lock of perfect golden hair around in her finger in a way that’s so much more vapidly attractive than it should be. 

“Sorry for coming in when you weren’t home,” Corona says earnestly. “But we brought the drinks and everything. We even brought something for Harrow.” 

Next to Gideon, Harrow stiffens like someone’s slipped an ice cube down her back. Her eyes narrow warily. “What did you bring?” 

In answer, Camilla pulls out a giant plastic cup with a slinky straw and holds it out. “Fresh from the butcher’s. Corona thought the cup would be cute.” 

The look on Harrow’s face is absolutely priceless. Gideon mentally takes a snapshot of this moment to treasure it for the rest of her life. 

“I am not drinking out of that,” Harrow snaps, glaring at Camilla with the poisonous fervor of a pit viper. 

Camilla shrugs, unfazed, and puts the cup down on the table before unfolding the game board. “Suit yourself.” 

Harrow turns the glare on Gideon. “You told them I’m a vampire?”

“Well, yeah,” Gideon says. “It’s not like I could be like, ‘oh hey guys! I’m buying blood every week like a psychopath!’ without some kind of explanation.” 

Palamedes tips the game cards out onto the table and pushes them into piles of wheat, stone, and brick; Camilla starts sorting the game pieces by color. Gideon has to grin at the familiarity of it all. 

Gideon dumps her textbooks on the kitchen counter and sits down on the couch next to Palamedes, leaving Camilla and Corona to slouch against the worn-out bean bag chair wedged in the corner of the living room. She looks up at Harrow, who’s still standing. “Are you going to play Drinkers of Catan with us, my tenebrous overlord?” 

Camilla and Corona shoot each other a knowing look that Gideon catches out of the corner of her eye and makes a mental note to kick Camilla’s ass for later. 

“Alcohol doesn’t work on vampires,” Harrow says dismissively, but she sits on the end of the couch nearest to Gideon anyway. She casts a wary eye over the game pieces on the table. “How does this even work?” 

Palamedes jumps at the chance to explain. “Okay, so it’s basically Settlers of Catan but each resource card is also a type of alcohol, and the point of the game is to create the largest army but also drink the most…” 

Gideon tunes out the rest of his unnecessarily long explanation, instead choosing to watch Harrow listening to it. She looks gravely serious, like she’s going to be tested on it later. Gideon smirks and leans over to her. 

“Don’t take it so seriously,” Gideon says in a low voice. “Pal just likes to overcomplicate things. Basically, you collect the little colored pieces and get drunk.” 

“For the last time, I _can’t_ get drunk.” 

“Okay, so drink the blood.” 

“I am not drinking out of that plastic abomination masquerading as a cup. It would be undignified and highly embarrassing.” 

“Yeah,” Gideon says, bumping her shoulder against Harrow’s lightly, “but it has _blood_ in it. Come on, they brought it specially for you and everything.” 

Harrow looks at the cup and then back at Gideon, her eyes filled with something unreadable, and then heaves a sigh. “Fine.” 

Across the table, Camilla makes a poorly concealed snorting sound, burying her face in Corona’s hair. Gideon picks up a wheat card and chucks it at her like a throwing star.

“All right,” Palamedes says at last, blissfully unaware that absolutely no one had been paying attention to his in-depth lecture of an explanation on game rules. “Are we ready?” 

//

Two hours later, Camilla is winning and Gideon is drunk.

They’re all drunk, with the exception of Harrow, but Gideon is Very drunk. The room is kind of spinning a little bit, blurring at the edges, and every time she looks at Harrow it gets harder and harder not to do something stupid like reach over and play with her hair or kiss her forehead. 

She sits on her hands to prevent that from happening, because she refuses to be _that_ stupid. 

“You _are_ that stupid,” Camilla says, and it’s only then that Gideon realizes she said that last part out loud. 

Palamedes starts cleaning up the game board. Corona lays back, resting her head in Camilla’s lap and lazily reaching for the last bottle of vodka. Gideon collapses against the couch and groans slightly. 

“We’re leaving,” Camilla announces, pulling Corona to her feet and herding her and Palamedes in the direction of the door. Camilla pauses long enough to lean over Gideon and poke her unmercifully in the stomach. Gideon groans again, wishing Camilla wasn’t quite so forceful. “Get off, Cam.” 

“Talk to her, Nav,” Camilla says, her voice low but forceful, and then she’s gone. The door clicks softly closed behind their departure, leaving Gideon and Harrow alone on the sofa. Gideon slumps down even further on the pillows, regretting that last shot she took and trying to gather her thoughts enough to process the pros and cons of talking to Harrow about her feelings right now.

Pros: She’s drunk, so she probably won’t remember this tomorrow. 

Cons: Harrow would probably kill her. Also, talking about feelings wasn’t something Gideon even wanted to do sober.

Harrow’s face appears above hers, looking...annoyed? Confused? Gideon can’t really tell, but either way, it’s really cute. 

“Hey, Harrow,” she says, aiming for _sotto voce_ and hitting something more like _bravo forte._

“Not so loud,” Harrow says. “On a scale of one to drunken imbecile, how drunk are you?” 

“Uh…” 

“Drunken imbecile it is. Get off the couch, Griddle. You’re going to bed.” 

“Are you taking me to bed?” Gideon asks, allowing Harrow to lead her in the direction of her room. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

Harrow flushes deeply. “Idiot,” she snaps, letting go of Gideon’s arm. Gideon promptly walks into the doorframe. “You can walk the rest of the way yourself.” 

“Ow,” Gideon mutters, rubbing at her forehead. Harrow sighs and places one hand at the small of Gideon’s back in a way that serves as a blaring wake-up call inside Gideon’s hammered brain, guiding her into her room. 

“Now lie down,” Harrow says, pushing Gideon onto the bed, “and sleep.” 

Gideon reaches blindly for the blankets, hands fumbling against the sheets. She manages to pull them up and cover herself, then closes her eyes. 

There’s an almost undetectable dip in the mattress as Harrow sits down next to her. Gideon keeps her eyes closed, barely breathing, and then she feels it. 

Harrow’s fingers are in her hair, carding through her messy orange curls. It’s soft and gentle and feels so good that Gideon has to physically stop herself from making any embarrassing noises. 

“Harrow?” she murmurs. “I have to...I mean, I want to...you...” The words are right there, but between her brain shutting down from Harrow touching her hair and her state of absolute smashedness, she can’t quite form the sentence. 

“Go to sleep, Griddle,” Harrow says, her voice soft in a way that Gideon’s never heard before. “I’ll still be here in the morning.” 

Gideon doesn’t want to fall asleep, because she has a feeling that Harrow Nonagesimus playing with her hair is a once in a lifetime deal and she doesn't want to miss a second of that, but she can’t keep her eyes open. Unwillingly, she gives in and lets herself slide into sleep. 

//

“Stop that,” Camilla says briskly. 

Gideon ignores her, continuing to bend the tip of her rapier until it snaps against her palm with a satisfying metallic _thwack._ “I can’t do this, Cam.” 

“You’re going to warp the blade.” 

Gideon groans and drops the rapier. “I know. I just…” 

“To be fair,” Camilla continues, “you’re being an idiot right now. Are you telling me that you had a perfect opportunity to talk to Harrow and you threw it out the window because you were too tongue-tied from her playing with your hair? You’re such a useless lesbian.” 

“It just happened,” Gideon protests. “I’ll talk to her at some point. I will.” 

“It’s been a week since then,” Camilla points out, supportive as always. “Get on with it.” 

Gideon rests her head on her fencing bag and stares up at the ceiling of the gym. “I can’t. She’ll hate me if I tell her I like her. I just know it.” 

“Don’t be stupid.” Camilla shoves her rapier and suit into her bag, then stands up. “Anyways, I’ll see you later. I’m going out with Corona.” 

Gideon flips her off from her position on the floor, and Camilla returns the gesture. She pauses at the door to call out “Talk to her, Gideon” before disappearing.

Gideon drags herself off the floor and gathers her things to leave. She stops to wrap her new scarf around her neck - a purchase made because of her inability to say no to the cute girl selling winter apparel outside the Student Union - and walks outside into the cold night air. 

A shadowy shape ghosts up to her, and Gideon almost jumps out of her skin. “What the fuck?” 

“Calm down, nitwit,” says an impatient voice, and Gideon relaxes immediately as she recognizes it. “It’s just me.” 

“Harrow,” Gideon says, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heartbeat is running almost as fast as it did when she tried mixing a 5-hour energy with Red Bull and double espresso last year. “What are you doing here?” 

Harrow looks up at her, and Gideon sees a flicker of uncertainty flashing in her eyes for a split second before she blinks it away. “Nothing.” 

“Did you come all the way to the gym just to walk me home from fencing practice?” 

“No,” Harrow scoffs. 

“Come on, tell the truth,” Gideon says teasingly. It feels so good to have Harrow on the ropes for once. “It’s okay to admit that you like me, my gothic lady. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Harrow just rolls her eyes. “Forget it. You can walk home alone.” 

“Hey, hey,” Gideon says, catching up to her in one easy step. “You’re not ditching me that easy.” 

Harrow makes a noise of annoyance, stopping under one of the streetlamps lining the brick pathways of campus. Now that she’s in the light, Gideon can see that she’s extremely not dressed for the temperature outside, which is somewhere north of _totally fucking freezing._

“Let’s walk,” Harrow says impatiently. “It’s cold out.” She shivers a little, and Gideon wonders, not for the first time and definitely not for the last time, why Harrowhark Nonagesimus has absolutely no capacity for basic self care. 

Gideon takes off her scarf and carefully wraps it around Harrow’s neck instead. Since Harrow is considerably smaller than her, it functions less like a scarf and more like a small cape, but whatever. It’ll keep her warm.

“You’re so…” Harrow starts, then huffs. “Why would you do that? Now you’ll be cold.” 

“Nah,” Gideon says blithely. “I’m too hot to feel the cold.” She winks at Harrow, earning herself the patented _you’re such an idiot_ sigh, then sticks her hands in her pockets. “ _Now_ we can walk.” 

//

The room is dark when they get back, and Gideon kicks off her boots at the doorway before turning on the small golden string lights that Corona had pawned off on them a few weeks earlier and then flopping down on the couch and reaching for the remote. She looks to Harrow expectantly, but Harrow remains where she is, standing just inside the doorway with her shoes still on. 

“You’re not waiting for me to invite you in, are you?” Gideon asks. “Cause that whole invitation thing is only for places you don’t already live. I’m pretty sure, anyway.” 

“For god’s sake, Griddle,” Harrow says. “That’s a myth, too. I don’t need to be invited in anywhere.” 

“Then why are you lurking by the door like a weirdo?” 

Harrow twists the scarf around her neck, either trying to take it off or trying to strangle herself with it. “I’m not staying here tonight.” 

“Whoa, whoa,” Gideon says, dropping the remote. “What do you mean you’re not staying here? Do you have a hot date or something?”

“No,” Harrow replies curtly. “We’re out of blood.” 

Gideon pads over to the fridge and checks the drinks rack. Nothing there but beer cans and cranberry juice. “Oh. So? We’ll get you some more tomorrow. No big.” 

“Griddle,” Harrow says, her tone filled with familiar exasperation. “I’m not staying here if we’re out of blood.” 

“Oh, so what, I’m just your blood connection?” Gideon shuts the fridge, slamming the door harder than necessary. 

“ _No_ ,” Harrow snaps. “I’m currently experiencing bloodlust, and I don’t...I don’t want to bite you by mistake. So I’m leaving.” 

Gideon feels like she’s been hit on the head by something heavy. Harrow is trying to protect her? Harrow is trying to be _nice_ to her? 

“Get that lame expression off your face,” Harrow says, her gaze avoiding Gideon’s. “I’ll be back in the morning.” 

“Wait,” Gideon says, her mouth running ahead of her thoughts. “No, don’t go. Stay here, okay?” 

Harrow backs up flat against the door. “It’s not safe, Griddle. Don’t be an idiot.” She’s shaking slightly, looking paler than she has in a long time, and it pulls at something in Gideon’s chest.

“Harrow,” Gideon breathes out. “You need blood.” 

“Obviously…” 

“Can you bite me?” 

Harrow’s eyes flash at her angrily. “I’m not biting you, moron. That’s the entire point of me leaving.” She reaches for the door handle, then buckles at the knees like the floor’s collapsing underneath her. Gideon catches her, wryly reflecting that she’s getting pretty good at this whole catch-the-fainting-woman gig. The painters of romance novel covers would love her. 

“Alright,” Gideon says, bringing Harrow over to the sofa and setting her down. “I’m gonna ask again. Can you bite me? Without killing me or turning me into a vampire, I mean. I’m sure vampirism has its perks, but I’m not ready to stop eating garlic.” 

Harrow bites down on her lip, and Gideon sees her fangs slipping out of hiding. “I could, but it would hurt.” 

“No pain, no gain,” Gideon says. She rests her hand on top of Harrow’s, and Harrow flinches at the touch. “Harrow, you need blood. I have blood. Do the math here.” 

“Can’t,” Harrow says, slumping forward so her face is hidden from view. Without looking up, she says, “I lied to you.” 

“About what?” Gideon asks. Then, impatiently: “Harrow, it doesn’t matter."

“It does,” Harrow says. “When you asked about why I wasn’t around for the start of the year. I lied.” 

“Look, I’m over that, okay?” Gideon says. “I get it, you thought I was annoying and didn’t want to be around, whatever. Can you just - ” 

“That wasn’t all,” Harrow interrupts. “I did think you were annoying at first, yes, and you still are, actually, but that wasn’t the only reason. I stayed away to avoid you at first, but then when the bloodlust started, I - ” She takes a deep breath, digs her fangs into her lip until Gideon can see blood welling up at the tip. “I left because I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

Gideon stares at her, uncomprehending. 

“You were irritating and irreverent,” Harrow says. “But you...you were good to me. You still are. I don’t want to hurt you.” She swallows. “I can’t hurt you.” 

Gideon reaches out and presses a hand to Harrow’s cheek, resting her thumb at the corner of Harrow’s mouth. Harrow lifts her head slowly, letting their eyes meet, and Gideon is overcome by a wave of affection. 

“You’re so dumb,” she says softly. 

“Griddle, don’t.” 

“You’re so dumb,” Gideon repeats. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I know you wouldn’t.” With her free hand, she pushes an errant strand of hair away from Harrow’s face. “Bite me. It’s okay.” 

Harrow blinks, her dark eyes filled with a mix of fear and longing. “Gideon…” 

“Harrow,” Gideon answers, reveling in the thrill of hearing Harrow say her name for the first time. “You can have my blood, okay? I know you won’t hurt me. I trust you.” She tips her head back, exposing her throat, and pulls Harrow closer. “But I know you need this, so hurry up and _bite me already_.”

“It will hurt,” Harrow warns. 

“It’s okay,” Gideon says, bracing herself. “Do it.” 

Every coherent thought in her brain fades away as Harrow bites her. 

Harrow’s fangs sink into the side of Gideon’s throat, and Gideon’s head falls back against the couch cushions. Harrow climbs into her lap, pushing her face deeper into Gideon’s neck, and somewhere in the back of her mind Gideon registers that _holy shit, Harrowhark Nonagesimus is straddling me._

Harrow bites harder, and Gideon gasps. It hurts, but also kind of amazing; there’s a strangely pleasant sensation that’s underlying the pain, a sort of burning, aching feeling that makes Gideon’s heart race. She tries her hardest not to moan out loud.

After another minute, Harrow pulls her fangs out of Gideon’s throat. She licks the spot that she just bit into, running her tongue over the small bite marks that were left behind - which is more of a turn-on than it has any right to be - and then sits back. Gideon blinks up at her, dazed and more than a little horny. 

“Gideon,” Harrow says haltingly. “Are you alright?” 

Gideon fishes around for something clever to say, something like _ha, I knew you had a biting kink._ What comes out of her mouth is “M’fine.”

Harrow exhales deeply, shifting her weight around on Gideon’s legs. This close to her, Gideon can see that color is returning to Harrow’s face, and it makes her unspeakably relieved. Gideon’s neck hurts a little, but it’s nothing to write home about.

Harrow still looks worried. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Gideon says in answer to her unspoken question. “I’m okay. I promise.” 

“I wasn’t - ”

“I know. But I’m okay.” 

Harrow’s brow is furrowed as usual, and Gideon smooths the crease with the tip of one finger. With a sudden burst of courage, she presses her lips to the spot between Harrow’s eyes before pulling back quickly. The small, ragged noise that comes from Harrow’s throat in response is the best thing she’s ever heard. 

“I can’t believe you let me drink from you,” Harrow murmurs. “You’re so stupid. I could have killed you.” 

Gideon shrugs. “I know, letting a hot girl bite your neck is usually a second date activity, but…” 

Harrow leans forward, placing one hand on each side of Gideon’s face. Her touch is warm and slightly rough, and Gideon’s synapses immediately short-circuit at the contact.

“Gideon,” Harrow says, causing Gideon’s heart to flutter once again at the use of her real name. “Do you ever stop spewing inane banter?” 

“Not really,” Gideon replies. “But don’t pretend you don’t like it, I know you secretly think I’m hilar - ” 

The rest of her sentence is lost as Harrow leans in and kisses her. 

Gideon’s brain goes on cruise control, her hands automatically dropping to Harrow’s waist as she kisses back. Although Gideon never would have guessed it, Harrow is a fuck-good kisser; her lips feel like heaven against Gideon’s, and when she bites gently at Gideon’s bottom lip, Gideon can’t help but moan a little. Harrow’s tongue slips inside her mouth, reducing her to a useless mess, and yeah, Gideon’s pretty sure she could die happy right here. 

Harrow pulls back, her breathing unsteady. Gideon pulls her in closer until there’s almost no space between them. 

“So,” Gideon says. “Is that something you do to all your victims, or…” 

“Of course not,” Harrow huffs. “Shut up.” 

“Does this mean you like me?” 

Harrow blushes deeply. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Gideon smiles and presses another kiss to Harrow’s forehead. “I like you too,” she says, pushing her mouth against Harrow’s frontal bone. She wraps her arms around Harrow and maneuvers them until they’re lying down, Gideon on the bottom and Harrow on the top. Harrow lets out a sigh and curls into Gideon, resting her head on Gideon’s chest, right above her heart. 

“Get the blanket, Griddle,” Harrow says, her words muffled by Gideon’s shirt. Gideon pulls the blanket from the back of the sofa and spreads it over them clumsily. Her back hurts from lying across the gap in the cushions, and Harrow’s hair is tickling her face, but it’s the happiest she’s ever been. 

“Are you ever going to call me by my name again?” Gideon asks, resting her hand at the small of Harrow’s back. 

“I do,” Harrow says sleepily. “Griddle.” 

“No, my real name,” Gideon says. “I mean, Griddle is fine and all, but...” 

Harrow mumbles something to herself, then stretches up to place a kiss at the edge of Gideon’s jaw. Gideon almost blacks out from sheer happiness.

“Gideon,” Harrow says softly, and then nothing else. 

“Yeah,” Gideon says blissfully, closing her eyes. “Just like that.” 

//

They spend the next day hanging out at the university library, Harrow studying theorems and Gideon studying Harrow. It’s not the first or even fifth place that Gideon would have chosen to go, since she avoids libraries on principle, but it was Harrow’s idea, so she doesn’t protest. After she discovers the coffee bar on the second floor, she’s pretty much sold. They settle into the lounge across the hall once Gideon’s bought herself a coffee (and subsequently gotten yelled at by a librarian for spilling said coffee in the stacks). 

Sunlight pours in through the tall glass windows, illuminating the lounge in a golden haze; Harrow scowls at the beams of light, clearly outraged that the sun is daring to shine on her. It’s incredibly endearing, and Gideon has to laugh.

“Stop laughing at me,” Harrow says, scrawling down a pageful of numbers. “This isn’t funny. The sun shouldn’t have to be so _bright_.” 

“Is the sun bothering you, my melancholy queen?” Gideon asks lazily. “Can’t stand the horrifying tribulation of catching a few rays?” 

Harrow scoffs and turns back to her work. Seizing the opportunity, Gideon moves over to sprawl across the couch that Harrow’s sitting on, resting her head in Harrow’s lap.

“Gideon, don’t,” Harrow sighs. “Now I can’t work.” 

“Yeah, that’s the whole idea,” Gideon replies. “Hey, Harrow?” 

Harrow shakes her head, but there’s an unmistakable smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “What?” 

“What are we?” Gideon asks. “Like, was I just a one bite stand to you, or…” 

“You’re an idiot to me,” Harrow says, running her fingers through Gideon’s hair. 

“So we’re dating now?” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Harrow mutters, her voice carrying that underlying note of affection that Gideon’s learned to listen for over the last few weeks. “But yes. If that’s what you want.” 

“Sweet,” Gideon says, grinning widely. “Does that mean you’ll come to Cam and Pal’s Christmas party with me next week?” 

Harrow’s face goes through the five stages of grief as she fights an internal struggle, and then she lets out a sigh. “Fine.” 

Gideon lets out a whoop that’s altogether too loud for the library, earning herself a glare from the librarian passing by in the hall, and sits up to look at Harrow properly. “Wanna wear matching sweaters?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Oh well. Worth a try.” Gideon leans in to kiss Harrow, soft and sweet. She thinks about everything they’ve gone through this year, from ignoring each other to buying bottled blood together to making out, and smiles against Harrow’s lips. 

“What’s so funny?” Harrow asks, pulling back, and Gideon laughs.

“Nothing, just...you know I thought you were a ghost at the start of the year, right? Like, I straight up thought _wow, my roommate is a ghost._ ” 

“Gideon,” Harrow says affectionately, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gideon’s mouth. “You are so dumb.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Gideon replies, smiling so hard her face hurts. “Kiss me again?” 

Harrow smiles now - a proper smile, wide and beautiful - and does as Gideon asked. 

(Gideon’s roommate is not a ghost. She’s a vampire, and Gideon couldn’t be happier about it.)

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/thymewars)


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